It has been more than two months since the last time I went home for my cousin’s funeral. I still remember how gloomy this place was that cold cloudy morning in July. Not many people were taking the business train. The hallway was so spacious yet lack people, adding to the withdrawn , dark atmosphere of the day.
The train station still looks the same. It looks like I’m here for another parting. And yes, it’s another farewell. I’m going home to see my parents before they’re heading to Mecca for the 45-day pilgrimage trip. I imagine what this parting would be like when one of us leaves the family first. After my cousin’s sudden and tragic death, everyone in the family seems to treasure more the time spent with the existing family members as we will never know who will leave who. Just because one is older, it doesn’t necessarily mean s/he will leave first, and vice versa. Because the order of ‘tickets’ is really random in reality.
In bidding farewell, I am not really good. When my maternal grandfather passed away, things were confusing to me at first. I was trying hard to make sense of the whole things that struck me like a giant snowball. He would be away forever and I can’t see him ever again. Point taken.I mostly cried because I saw others crying but that didn’t mean I am a heartless cold person. I was also deeply saddened but there is part of me saying this misery is part of how the universe works. Getting, now losing. I had a grandpa and then I lost him. That simple, no tears at all involved. But then the emotional memories intruded, haunting whoever left behind to recall the bad and good times with the deceased. Needless to say, the next thing is sobbing and snorting.
Maybe the next time I bid farewell, I would be standing without saying anything, only looking closely and waving my hands just like when people see their beloved ones in the train moving away faster and faster.
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